


Between Friends

by annabeth_at_the_helm



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Abortion, Angst, Cheating, Cutting, F/M, Infidelity, Korean War, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Minor Character Death, Self-Harm, Song Lyrics, Teenage Pregnancy, break-ups, brief mention of child sexual abuse, marriage break-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 04:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16190336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_at_the_helm/pseuds/annabeth_at_the_helm
Summary: The long, meandering road of Hawkeye and BJ's relationship, from Korea through after the war.





	1. Between Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really not that fond of this pairing anymore, but I wrote this fifteen years ago and rereading tells me it's not actually as awful as I thought it was going to be, so I thought I'd post--this is the last fic from that time period. The other works I've been posting recently are from this year, when I got back into fandom.

_I could search the whole world over  
but I know I'll never find another you_

The cold was getting to them. In the brittle sunlight, everyone looked just a little too tired -- but that wasn't unusual -- and ground was cracking unevenly due to the cold. BJ swung his mask back and forth as he headed for the Swamp, trying to think of anything but everything he usually thought about.

Thoughts of Peg made him want to smile and cry at once. Thoughts of Erin just made his mouth lose its ability to curve upwards. He loved her, but he missed her so much he had filed her memory away into the box marked "do not contemplate." The constant barrage of wounded was making his memory feel like it was bleeding. Thoughts of Charles exhausted him, and thoughts of Hawkeye should have been revitalizing, but instead...

...instead they just weren't. Anything. He knew all of the classic signs of depression, he knew he was spiralling, and he knew he ought to at least mention it to Hawk. After all, who else was there? Col. Potter was great, but BJ was too old for a father figure. Let Radar go to the colonel for solace and advice. BJ would rather just shatter, like the cold ground when it was hit too hard. As he walked slowly in the direction of their tent, Hawkeye fell in step beside him.

"Hey, Beej, what's up?"

"The sky," BJ replied halfheartedly.

"If that's true, then it must be falling, because you haven't looked up once. Are you okay?" Hawk reached over and touched BJ's forehead. "You don't appear to be sick, at least not physically anyway. Come on, don't make me beat it out of you."

"You couldn't. Now, just leave me alone. I'd rather be alone to think, okay?"

"You look more like you'd rather _not_ think, Beej. I bet I could win an explanation at poker. Wanna play?"

"Not _now_ , Hawk!" BJ strengthened the anger in his voice. Hawkeye stopped, grabbing the sleeve of BJ's scrubs and pulling him to a stop as well.

"All right, what's going on. You're supposedly my best friend, but you're gnawing at my head like a dog with a new chew toy. Spill." Hawkeye sounded equally determined.

"It's nothing, really. I'm just exhausted, and I want to rest, and I want to be alone."

"You're gonna drive yourself mad if'n you keep things up that way. Buy you a drink?"

"No. Listen, Hawk, I appreciate the effort. But at the moment, _no_ effort would be the best effort." BJ tugged his sleeve free and resumed walking. Hawkeye jogged to catch up, then put a hand into the small of BJ's back, steering him sideways.

"At least give the Father a try, then? Since I'm obviously _so_ useful, and you look like you'll explode if you don't at least talk it out." Hawkeye sounded disturbingly pleading -- whenever he brought out his famous wheedle it was nearly impossible to deny him _anything_ \-- and BJ caved.

"All right. The chaplain. But that's it, no questions about it."

"Deal. Shake?"

"Nah. You've probably got something up your sleeves," BJ managed a slightly bitter smile. Hawkeye unleashed his trademark, disarming grin -- the one that BJ always fell for when they were alone. So much had been going on, and the cold was freezing his insides, and his fingers, and everything else -- he didn't feel like a surgeon. He felt like an overused toy that was about to break. Hawkeye leaned over, his breath warming BJ's ear.

"Between you and I, the only thing up my scrubs is an ace I'm going to use later in poker." He spied something, and grinned harder. "Ah, I'll be with the lovely nurse Bigelow if you want me. There's something _in_ my scrubs for her," Hawkeye said suggestively.

"You mean, if _she'll_ want you, don't you?" BJ's last snide remark followed Hawk as he darted off to try and impede the nurse's rapid progress.

"Oh, she will!" Hawkeye called over his shoulder, and in the cold, BJ imagined the words hanging in the air like wind chimes, only to tinkle together and spiderweb apart until there was nothing left. And then he shook his head, even his thoughts were getting overworked. He was beginning to remind himself of a cliche greeting card, or at the very least bad poetry. He continued on his way until he reached the chaplain's tent, and he knocked very lightly.

"Yes?" came from within the stark olive tent.

"It's BJ," he answered. "Hawk insisted I unload my concerns on you."

Father Mulcahy made the sign of the cross over the sacrament he was blessing, then stood. He heard the slight smile in BJ's tone -- but also the despair that lurked dangerously beneath it. "Come in, my son."

BJ pushed open the tent door and came inside.

"What seems to be the problem? Anything I can help resolve?" Father Mulcahy inquired.

"It's real simple, Father. I miss my wife, my daughter -- this place might as well be Hell, freezing over as it is... And the best part, the truly enviable aspect, is that there's not one safe thought in my entire brain. My mind whirls, and I touch down at some little, allegedly innocent idea or thought, and it explodes -- like those damn shells -- into something impossible. Sorry for swearing, Father."

"That's perfectly all right. It takes a lot of getting used to, but it _does_ get easier..."

"That's just it, Father. I can't get used to this. I can't quite resign myself to the fact that this is Korea and those are real children that are dying. It could've been my Erin, in a shelling, it could've been anyone. And I used to think I could handle it. I turned it off, used to think that would help. But like a leaky faucet, the thoughts just keep trickling through."

"I understand."

"Do you? I thought Hawkeye could help me. I let myself depend on him, I let myself lean on his jokes, used my own to try and achieve the same result. But all I've succeeded at is--"

"Yes? You can say anything, you know."

"I know. Except that I can't. And because I cannot stop to think, I simply cannot stop. I'm sorry, Father." BJ stood up, and walked out. Father Mulcahy continued to sit, slightly stunned, hands folded in his lap. Whatever was bothering BJ was something only God could cure, and he just wasn't strong enough to say so.

~*~*~

BJ entered the Swamp in much the same foul mood, trying to avoid anything that might draw his mind back to Erin and Peggy. And that was when Radar brought the mail in.

"Letter from home, sir." Radar held out a pale lavender envelope. Hawkeye looked up from his bunk, where he was reading his newspaper from Crabapple Cove. BJ tore into the envelope, a determined look covering his face.

"Ooh, you suppose maybe this time she'll have gotten raunchy?" Hawk speculated. Radar, looking nervous and wringing his hands, broke in. "Uh, I don't think that's it, sir. As a matter of fact, I think I'll be in the mess tent...sirs," and he nearly ran out the door. Hawk followed Radar's retreat with look of inquisition. "Uh, oh, Beej. I think I'm beginning to fear for my--"

"Shut up, Hawk."

"What?" Hawkeye swung around to study his best friend. "That was unusual. Someone -- Charles maybe -- spike your coffee with cruelty caplets?"

"Shut _up_ Hawk." BJ's tone was as frigid as the compound outside their tent. Hawkeye adjusted his green knit hat, and twisted sideways on his cot.

"All _right_. What's eating _you_ , Sunshine?"

"Don't you know when to quit? Dammit, Hawk, I told you to _shut up_. But you don't know what that means, do you? You have no idea how to be considerate. All you know is how to keep cracking jokes -- the infamous pistol has gone off once too many times. Ever occur to you that you could really hurt someone with that thing?"

"What thing?"

"That _wit_ , that's what. That stupid, sickening, pointless sense of humor. That mask you hide behind. Let me tell you something, it doesn't fucking work. You just keep telling yourself jokes and trying to pretend this is the Carol Burnett show. You keep huddling underneath that blanket of humor, keep disrespecting everything, keep your hair too long and your eyes too bright and just never _think_ \--" BJ's tirade trailed, and snapped. A single tear fluttered on his eyelashes. Hawkeye sat up, a wounded expression on his face.

"Beej, I'm sorry. I don't quite understand, but I'm sorry."

"Then let me make it real clear, okay? I _hate_ this place. I _fucking_ hate this _fucking_ place. I want to go home. I want to be able to think about my wife and daughter without feeling like someone is cutting open my heart with a scalpel and no anesthesia. I want to be able to close my eyes without counting ruby droplets of blood on the insides of my lids. And I want to think about _you_ without feeling so damn lost."

"I hate it, too, Beej. The jokes are the only way I can even tolerate it."

"Yeah, well, that 'rapier wit' has cut me one too many times and a little too close. Peggy--" his voice cracked under the strain of his anger. Hawkeye unfolded and crossed over to BJ's cot, sitting down alongside. He brushed a stray lock of hair out of BJ's slate-blue eyes, and examined him earnestly, head cocked in that uniquely-Hawkeye way, blue eyes blackened with concern the way that only Hawkeye's did. It was the only time that Hawkeye ever seemed to be real -- when his eyes darkened, and the anger, anguish, and weariness overcame him and lit them from deep within his soul.

"Peggy?" he prompted gently. BJ closed his eyes and held himself rigid. It would be _so_ easy to just tumble sideways into Hawk's lap, and let himself cry. He wanted to sob and gasp for breath, to feel sweaty and sick, to just let _go_ so damn bad he ached with it. The tension he felt caused his body to mimic his emotional ache, and he clenched everything -- teeth, fists, even his toes.

"Peggy writes to say that she loves me, she misses me, and that she thinks she's falling in love with someone else. Someone who can be more than an absentee father to Erin. Someone who has _been_ a real father while I'm gone... She wants my permission to seek comfort and solace outside of our marriage while I'm gone." BJ's tone was utterly bleak, but laced with steel. Hawkeye, so close, could feel the vibrations of BJ's body as he held himself as tense as possible.

"You need to relax, Beej. Really, you're just going to make yourself sore."

"I can't. I can't even move. How could she? She knows I'd never do that to her. Or she should. She probably figures that the longer anyone stays in the damned place the more corrupted they get. But I've never-- Not even that once, not really. I _loved_ her--"

"Love," Hawkeye corrected. BJ tightened his fists.

"Right. I love her. And I've tried my hardest to stay faithful. You have no idea, Hawk, how difficult it is. Especially living with you."

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, watching you with the nurses. Knowing how it must have been, with Trapper, and the way he'd chase them with you. Knowing I shouldn't, that I _couldn't_. And now this. I'm going to say yes, Hawk. She deserves something while I'm gone. I just hope they remember me when I get back. Besides, Erin deserves better than this, too."

"So do you," Hawkeye murmured, then leaned forward and pressed his lips tenderly to BJ's forehead. "So do you."

"Lost, Hawk."

"You shouldn't be here. None of us should, but especially you. You give life. War steals it. You create miracles that war will ravage. And you should be at home, loving your wife and nurturing the miracle that you gave life. You don't belong here -- you're like an angel hovering among the ruins, looking for something to salvage, but everything here is already decaying faster than you can save it. You need to accept that this is all you can do, and that sometimes, the faster you break the quicker you can rebuild -- stronger than before."

"I miss my little girl. I miss my big girl, too." BJ clutched the olive blanket in his fingers, ignoring the sharp pain of his nails against his palm.

"I know you do. But maybe you should just allow yourself the same comfort. I think Peg would understand."

"I won't dishonor my marriage that way -- not for any woman." BJ met Hawk's deadly serious gaze.

"What about for a man?" Hawkeye inquired softly, dangerously.

"Not if you were the last--" BJ halted, searching Hawkeye's beautiful, ocean-blue eyes. The emotions in them wavered the same way the sun did, when hazy and hanging over a shimmering blue sea. He drew in a shuddering breath, feeling his lungs get too tight within his ribcage, feeling his diaphragm as if it was the object constricting his throat. Hawkeye just held his eyes, calm and serene as if nothing more important than a fresh glass of gin was at stake. BJ exhaled, then uncurled his fingers, reaching around and finding the slope of Hawkeye's neck beneath his shaggy onyx-colored hair. Hawkeye's eyes closed, lashes trembling.

"BJ, if this is what you want, if you're sure, then--"

"Shut up, Hawk," BJ ordered, then covered Hawk's mouth with his own. He searched tentatively at first, just resting against the warmth of Hawkeye's lips, adjusting to the pressure and the sensation that rippled in his mind when he remembered that he was kissing a man -- not just any man, but Hawkeye.

Hawkeye, who could make BJ's blood grow hot just from a slight brush against BJ's skin. Hawkeye, who had a response for everything.

Hawkeye -- who could kiss like no one else, not even Peggy -- 

Hawkeye nudged BJ's mouth open, and his tongue probed lightly against BJ's. Before the kiss could progress any further, the flood struck down the last of BJ's resistance, and before Hawkeye could lean back there were tears tingeing his mouth. Hawkeye drew slowly away from BJ's mouth, but tugged him closer, one hand resting reassuringly and warmly against BJ's spine. The tears just kept coming, wordless, noiseless, but nonetheless a fierce torrent of them, until at last BJ was almost boneless in Hawkeye's grip. BJ's slate-blue eyes were still damp, but closed, and gently Hawkeye eased his hand out from behind BJ, arranging him on the cot. He lay another kiss on BJ's forehead, one finger tracing the shell of his ear.

"Another kiss between friends, the same way everything is -- it all falls away sometime. Sleep, BJ, and don't worry."

"Hawkeye? Thank you," BJ whispered through a haze of exhaustion.

"I'm a doctor, Beej. It's what I do -- try to heal the wounded."

"But that -- that was as a friend. Really, Hawkeye, thanks..."

"I know, Beej. I know. And you're welcome. Now sleep." Hawk got up carefully, but BJ felt the mattress give, and he raised a hand, looking up through half-lidded eyes. His fingers twined in a lock of Hawkeye's hair, then he dropped his hand. Hawkeye lay down on his back, on his own cot, hands clasped behind his head.

"Night, Hawk."

"Night, Beej. See you when the wounded arrive."

"It'll be okay then. I'll be okay then..." the sleep in BJ's voice was evident, the lack of tension more than apparent.

For just one more kiss, Hawkeye would have given his previous lifetime.

Hell, he'd give all of Crabapple Cove just to know BJ's thoughts.

He just hoped that BJ would remember -- even after morning had strewn its impossible cheer and streamers of improbable light over the compound.

Outside, the chill air ruffled Klinger's dress as he patrolled, Charles in step.

Hawkeye fell asleep before he heard BJ's last words.


	2. Rules Between Lovers

_Your eyes are all wet now…_

The sun shone muzzily through the sides of the tent, and Hawk groaned, threw an arm over his eyes, and rolled away from the interfering light. Charles shifted in his cot, and then opened his eyes.

"Well, gentlemen," he began, "Another beautiful day in Hell has dawned."

"Amazing. It speaks," BJ mumbled through a mouthful of olive drab pillowcase.

"I wish it would shut up," grumbled Hawk, repositioning his arm yet again.

"Quite amusing. It's nearly enough of a brilliant day to deign the wisecracks with a response. Perhaps, but upon further consideration, not quite. Have no fear, I shall be leaving you gentlemen shortly to your indolent and slothful repose."

"Not only does it speak, it speaks in riddles!"

"All right, enough. I have OR duty this morning and shall return later." With that, Charles rolled neatly out of bed and strode out the tent flap. Hawkeye opened one eye, and tried to make out BJ's shape across the tent.

"Beej? You awake?"

"No. You?"

"Not a chance. Let's hie it back to slumberland before Mr. PhD returns."

"It's a deal," BJ replied, trying to get more comfortable in his cot. Just as Hawk was drifting back to sleep, the tent door banged open against Charles's bunk.

"Dammit, Charles, do you have to be so infernally _loud_?" Hawk growled.

"It's me, Hawk," came an all-too familiar voice from the doorway. Hawkeye paused, tossed his pillow aside, and sat up too fast.

"It can't be. Must be nurse Bigelow in disguise," Hawkeye said.

"I ain't no nurse, a fact you ought to remember all too well," said the newcomer. Hawkeye, rubbing his eyes, blinked, and looked again, and then jumped up and ran to greet him.

"Trapper!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around his best friend. "You're back, you're back! You're back?" he said questioningly, leaning backwards to examine his friend. "You shit, you left without saying goodbye."

"Yeah, but I left you this," Trapper replied, and wrapped his arms around his old lover, mouths fitting together again as though they'd never been apart. BJ observed from his cot, a cold, hollow place beginning to grow within him. This was his predecessor. This was the man that Hawk spoke about for weeks, voice always colored by pain and pleasure simultaneously. This was the ghost that had shadowed BJ since he'd arrived, the person that Hawkeye had loved -- the one person who could _again_ take away BJ's new surrogate family.

And if he was truthful with himself, he knew that there was nothing he could do about it. That there was nothing he _wanted_ to do about it -- if he was honest, then that periodically hot and periodically frigid thing that writhed within him was love for Hawkeye, and love for Hawkeye meant being happy Trapper was back, meant letting Hawkeye melt into those muscled arms without a second look. It meant that he was going to lose, again, and if he was really brutal in his musings, he knew that he was envious, knew that he had hated that man since the moment he'd realized Hawkeye's fierce anger was because Trapper had left. And it meant that he would seethe in silence, because love for Hawkeye would not allow him to speak out and get Hawkeye the dishonorable discharge the army thought that he deserved. BJ laid back down, eyes closing, and tried to forget the strange and beautiful thing that had moved within his heart the previous night, tried to block out the gentle, masterful kiss that had captivated him -- tried to forget the color of those eyes when marred by passion. 

When Trapper released Hawkeye's lips, he was barely breathing. There was a suspicious sheen to his eyes, but he blinked and it was gone.

"You could've left a damn note. Trap, I've been like hell since you've been gone. Wretchedness doesn't even begin to apply."

"It must know it won't get the job. Anyway, Hawk, you were always too melodramatic. Besides, you'll love this. The Army sent me _back_ over here because they raised the number of points, and apparently your unit could really use another cutter."

"Surgeon, not comedian," BJ announced bitterly from his cot.

"That my replacement?" Trapper asked. Hawkeye nodded, a guilty expression hanging on his face for a moment.

"Yeah. Sorry, Beej, I forgot to introduce you. BJ, this is Trapper John McIntyre. Trap, this is BJ Hunnicutt. Like you, left a wife an' kid at home, but unlike you, doesn't hunt nurses for sport."

"Pleasure," BJ ground out, and Trapper cocked his head curiously.

"Likewise, I'm sure."

"Did you hear about Frank?" Hawkeye asked Trapper, all attention again diverted to his old friend.

"He flipped further than General Loonytunes Steele?" Trapper guessed.

"Like a pancake," Hawkeye grinned. "Hot Lips got herself a Lt. Col. husband and Frank lost her and his mind in one fell swoop."

"Wow. Hot Lips got herself a hell of a backbone, then."

"Yeah. Typical, anyway. We got Charles Winchester III as his replacement. I swear, sometimes I think I prefer Frank. He was annoying, he was rotten, he looked like some species of weasel -- but he was all right. Charles, on the other hand, is insufferably annoying. He waves his degree around this camp like a flag."

"That must be hard to get used to. Damn, I _still_ hate it here, but I'm blissfully happy to see you're still here and in one piece."

"Mostly. I left a few pieces in Hot Lips's tent," Hawkeye cracked.

"Yeah? Which ones?"

"A sock, a pair of underwear, and a bunch of dirty magazines. Not to mention Frank's old Bible. Oh, yeah, and a dead rat. Still waiting for her to notice."

"Typical Hawkeye Pierce pranks," Trapper smiled. "Damn, I've missed ya. Ain't the same at home. Little girls turning into big girls, all blue eyes and curly hair, and my wife is built like I've never seen. Guess she took up exercising while I was gone to distract herself. Shame, though."

"What's that?"

"Supply tent, Hawk? I'm gonna need a cot and blankets."

"You can share mine," Hawkeye gave his trademark wink. Trapper rolled his eyes, and the gesture was as comfortable as old shoes. Trapper held the door, and quipped, "After you, madam."

"You called?" Klinger asked, silk dress wavering in the early sunlight. Then he looked closer. "Holy Toledo! Captain McIntyre, what are you doing here? If you tell me you came back here to visit, I'm gonna give you my section eight. Well, after I get it, of course."

Hawkeye laughed. "As you can see, Trap, he hasn't changed -- except for his dresses maybe. You'll have to meet the new colonel sometime soon, too. After all, Henry--"

"I know, Hawk." Trapper stopped him. "I remember."

"Sooo, Klinger, why are you here, since it doesn't appear to be for warming my bed?"

"Telegram, sir. Radar would have brought it but he's feeding his rabbits."

"For?"

"For Captain Hunnicutt, sir. It's from his wife. She says she dismissed their babysitter and hired a handyman. Same person, though." He smiled apologetically at BJ, then executed a perfect about-face on his spike heels and left the Swamp.

"The dead rat was actually my idea," BJ called as they left the tent. Hawk glanced back, trying to read BJ's expression, but then Trapper pulled him forward and they were on their way to the supply tent.

~*~*~

BJ smacked his pillow hard with one hand. It figured, didn't it? He'd almost found someone he could legitimately be close to, but again his thoughts were veering places he would rather they didn't.

"Damn Trapper McIntyre. I might've finally been able to let myself think about Hawkeye without screaming, if he hadn't come back. Filthy army!"

"May I come in? You sounded distressed as I was passing by the Swamp, BJ."

"Yeah, Father, you may." BJ rolled over and got to his feet. "Have a seat, Father. Take Hawkeye's bunk if you'd like."

"Why, thank you, I will," Father Mulcahy smiled, carefully sitting on Hawkeye's mussed and almost unrecognizable cot.

"I'd offer you a drink, but then you can't indulge, can you, Father?"

"I shouldn't, although I've been known to sneak a little now and then. Anyway, BJ, I was thinking about our conversation yesterday, and I was hoping to continue it. You seemed very unhappy."

"Yes. Peggy is consorting with another man, with what she believes is my permission but is really just my apathy, thoughts of my daughter are like shards of glass piercing my eyes, and Pierce is just that. He's a pain that won't go away."

"Sounds as though you have stronger feelings for Hawkeye than you want to acknowledge."

"Let me put it this way, Father. What I feel for Hawkeye is beyond forbidden by many people, and a moot point besides, because what Hawkeye feels for Trapper is stronger and Trapper is here."

"Trapper is here? Now? That's odd, I wonder why he didn't come visit right away..."

"Because Hawkeye and Trapper are getting reacquainted in the supply tent."

"Re--reacquainted? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"Like this, Father," and then BJ did something else he never would have done, never would have even considered in peacetime -- he kissed the chaplain on the mouth. It was a chaste kiss, a quick one, but unexpected by both parties. BJ flushed.

"I'm sorry, Father. That was quite out of character for me -- I think jealousy is getting in the way of rational thought."

"That's quite all right, I think. After all, jealousy is the devil's plaything," Father Mulcahy smiled. He stood up, a shade too quickly, and said, "I have to get going. I have a confession to hear at ten hundred hours."

BJ waved halfheartedly, and sank down again.

~*~*~

"So, Trapper, what's a shame?"

"I couldn't get it up for her anymore. Everytime she closed her eyes, I closed mine and saw you. And I hated myself for not leaving you something more than a proxy-kiss."

Hawkeye leaned against one of the shelves. "Trap, I'm glad you're back."

"I'm not, but now I have to earn some more points, so I can get back home again. I swear I'll try to say goodbye this time."

"You better." Hawkeye let go of the shelf and put his hands on Trapper's shoulders. "I've missed the feel of you under my hands so much. The way you smile in your sleep, the way gin doesn't stand a chance around us. I've missed the way your mouth tastes, even when we've both been drinking. I even missed holding sweaty curls out of your eyes while you threw up."

"Hawk, you're going all Frank on me," Trap warned. Hawkeye raised his hands in a gesture of supplication.

"Forgive me, Trapper. But it was a vile thing, not having my best friend and partner in evilness."

"But I'm here now, and we can get back to our mischief-making."

"I doubt it's so easy, Trap. Beej isn't as disposed to it as you were, and he's in a bad way about missing his wife and kid."

"Give me that kiss I've waited months for, Hawk. We'll straighten out BJ's issues after that and a few martinis."

"And a round of poker."

"Definitely."

~*~*~

Radar burst into the Swamp, looking worried. "Choppers, sir," he told BJ, then glanced around. "Where're the other sirs, Hawkeye and Trapper, sir?"

"In the supply tent. Probably taking out each other's tonsils. I'll be right there, Radar," BJ reassured him, pulling his pants on. Radar nodded, darted back out into the chilly mid-afternoon air, and BJ sighed. If this was love, then Hawkeye could keep it.

At least loving Peggy never felt this way; it was straightforward, it was easy, he understood the rules.

He didn't even know what game he was playing when he kissed Hawkeye. He didn't know what Pandora's box he'd opened, he just knew that now he had not the faintest clue how to close it again.

But if Hawkeye was going to desert him for Trapper, BJ figured he better find a way, and soon. He dashed out into the compound, and tried not to think about Hawkeye -- and by default, Trapper -- as he headed for OR.

~*~*~

"Attention, all personnel. Choppers on the helicopter pad and ambulances in the compound. It's gonna be a messy one, folks," came the announcement over the PA.

Hawkeye exchanged a look with Trapper in the supply tent, and on mutual unspoken agreement they shared a final, daring kiss before exiting and sprinting for the OR.

"You still in practice, Trap?"

"I had one at home, Hawk. I think I can remember -- and what I don't, I'll get damn quick. I won't have another choice."

"Get ready for Charles, Trapper. He's gonna drive you nuts and probably going to hate you."

"Wouldn't be the first time. Hawkeye, I never thought I'd say this. Literally, _ever_. But I'm glad to be back in Korea."

"You're gonna eat those words with a surgical scalpel," Hawkeye warned, but Trapper just shrugged.

"I'm lookin' forward to seein' Hot Lips after so long. Think she'll remember me?"

"Would she remember Frank? Would she remember her tent collapsing on the night of her date with Frank? Will she remember an almost-kiss in the supply tent while we were getting shelled... The list goes on, Trap. Short of it is, she _did_ say she had a thing for you, once."

"She was trashed, wasted drunk, and I had an ulcer. Which has mostly cleared up, by the way."

"Ah, then a martini to celebrate as soon -- or as late -- as we get out of surgery."

~*~*~

BJ mulled over the last thing he'd spoken to Hawk the previous night, and wanted to kick himself. The best thing was, Hawkeye didn't seem to have heard -- either that or he didn't remember. "I think I'll always remember that kiss, Hawk. And the way you held me when no one was looking, when I needed someone and all of my someones were somewhere else."

But Hawkeye didn't seem to remember. Or he didn't care. And the way he and Trapper were eating each other up with their eyes, serious trouble was going to find them soon -- if they didn't tone it down, particularly around Charles and Margaret. BJ supposed he should say something.

But then he remembered the rules.

All's fair in love and war.


	3. Eve of Destruction

_When touching faces in the dark  
feeling pretty is so hard_

The evening sunset lit the compound with a firelike glow, and the surgeons wearily emerged from OR. BJ figured that Hawkeye and Trapper were awfully lucky, since no one -- not even Margaret -- had seemed alert to the subtext that they were positively drowning in. While he wasn't about to expose them, he certainly wasn't going to encourage them either -- or encourage Hawk alone. His thoughts veering towards the bleak again, he made a snap decision to talk to Colonel Potter, and see if maybe he ought to speak to Sidney Freedman.

~*~*~

Hawkeye was so entranced by the presence of Trapper -- real after being only a figment for so long -- that he barely noticed when BJ suddenly detoured into the colonel's office. Trapper, on the other hand, noticed, but decided it wasn't worth the worry -- particularly when he was so tired. As if to prove it, Trapper tore off his mask and groaned.

"Ohhh...did I have to forget how exhausting it is to spend thirteen hours in surgery?"

"Especially when it's just a light workout?"

"Don't remind me, Hawk. Just get me a damn drink." Trap said as they entered the Swamp to find it suspiciously empty.

"That's odd, BJ usually comes back to the Swamp to share a drink with me after OR. Wonder what's up?"

"If you ask me, Hawk, he's jealous. I wouldn't have kissed you in front of him, except I know you, and I know you probably already indoctrinated him."

"That's true, but it took longer than it did with you. He's so obsessed with his family... Anyway, last night we talked, and it culminated in a kiss, and I bet I confused the hell out of him. Trapper, what do I do?"

"I'm not sure why you're asking me."

"Because you're the one I was in love with before, and now... Now I'm intrigued by BJ, but I don't know if we're in love, and..."

"Hawk, a piece of advice. BJ _is_ married. I'm married. Find a nurse, or start working on Charles."

"Y'know, Trap, I loved you. I still do, I think -- but the point is this. Chasing the nurses was sport and we both knew it. But it's not good sportsmanship to play with anyone's feelings, including Charles's. BJ is hurting, and it's my fault. I can't believe I didn't see it until you said it."

"Hawkeye! What about what we had? I wrote to you."

"I never read them, Trap. You left without goodbye. You were dead to me -- what's worse, you're married. You went home, with luggage full of blood and nightmares from Korea, and you stayed married. I don't know if BJ will be so lucky."

"You didn't even _read_ them? I told you about everything--"

"I tore them up and used them as shavings for Radar's rabbits. Trap, I'm sorry, but this has gotta end. We can play like we always did, we can drink, we can torture Charles in non-harmful ways. But the rest..."

"Get me a damn drink, Hawk."

"All right." Hawkeye poured, handed the glass to Trapper, and laid down on his bunk. Trapper positioned himself at the foot of Hawkeye's cot and looked mournfully at his old lover.

"I can't believe this. _You_ , turning me down? When I kissed you, you--"

"That was almost six months ago!" Hawkeye sat up furiously. "Everything I've done. Everything I've promised, all the oaths I've taken, and I _loved_ you. But BJ wouldn't pull this shit. Not like you have. When I saw you again... I thought I was going to burst from happiness. I would've needed your surgical skill. But this--" Hawk stopped. The fact that he had no more words was evident, and Trapper got drunkenly to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Hawk."

"So'm I. Look, I think you should ask Potter to move you into a different tent."

"Fine." Trapper guided himself around by putting his hands on the sides of the tent, then lurched outside into the compound. The gin still was, for the moment, empty, and Hawkeye flopped backwards and wondered where BJ was.

~*~*~

BJ was wandering in circles throughout the compound. He had offered to keep Klinger company, but Klinger had announced that was Charles's job when he wasn't too tired, and so BJ was alone.

Or at least, he _was_ , until Hawkeye came up behind him.

"Beej."

"Yeah."

"I want to talk to you."

"You going to tell me what I think you are?"

"No. Listen, I'll make this short. You can be as angry as you want. I'll even send ya a latrine if it'll make it better... No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't joke right now. I made you feel important, like I needed you."

"Yeah, you did."

"And the truth is, I do need you. Trapper was someone I loved. He's still someone who is a good friend. But he did something I don't know if I can forgive, and you-- Well, you wouldn't have done that."

"I'm still going home to Peggy, Hawk. She's the one I love."

"I know. And I expect that. And that's okay."

"Hawk, I told you something the other night, but you'd fallen asleep already. I'll never forget, Hawk, no matter what happens."

"And it'll never be repeated?" Hawkeye asked. BJ turned around, studying Hawkeye's face, too wan and translucent in the moonlight.

"It can't be. I've changed my mind, Hawk. I'm going to write Peggy and tell her she damn well better _not_ screw around with somebody else while I'm stuck in this godforsaken hell."

"I see."

"Father Mulcahy is the one that gave the idea of what would be the best thing to do."

"Flip a coin, a pancake, your words. But don't try to be Trapper, and don't give up on your wife. She's a special one, anyway."

"Hawk -- so're you." BJ put a cold hand on Hawkeye's shoulder. "Let's go back to the Swamp, although I'm gonna take a detour first, to the chaplain's tent -- like someone I know once suggested I do." BJ smiled crookedly, then trotted off into the moonlight, leaving Hawkeye standing almost in the middle of the compound -- and contemplating latrines.

~*~*~

"Come in!" called Father Mulcahy. BJ entered the tent for the second time in two days. "What is it now, my son? Problems at home again?"

"Not so much, Father. This time it's Hawkeye. I have to be honest -- I have to, which means you can't breathe a word of this."

"Of course not, nothing goes farther than this tent. That's what confession is, you know." Father Mulcahy patted his Bible absentmindedly.

"Hawkeye and I shared something rather personal, and intimate, and now Trapper took that -- and anyway. The truth is, Father, I'm tired of feeling alone. In this camp I always feel like the odd man out. Hawkeye, no matter how he acts, carries the carcass of the old Trapper and what they felt for each other around everywhere he goes. And everyone else has someone to socialize with, hell, even Charles has formed an unlikely alliance -- platonic of course -- with Corporal Klinger."

"I see. So what's the problem?"

"My mother once told me that my dad was the love of her life. He was so vital to her existence that he superseded everything and everyone else, including me. I didn't mind that, though, because they were both so attentive and caring towards me. But y'see, Father, I grew up to believe love is love, and it shouldn't be shared except with the recipient. And now Peggy is sharing outside my marriage, and Hawkeye..."

"Hawkeye? I'd be careful, son, you're treading on dangerous ground... This may be confession, but even tents have ears." Father Mulcahy pointed to the sky, and then refolded his hands around the crucifix in his lap.

_Please keep me strong, my Father,_ he prayed silently.

"Hawkeye provided me with something I haven't felt since I left home. He gave me security, even though he wasn't aware of it. And even though he says we're best friends, even though we spend hours plotting together, I still feel like everything else is gonna come first."

"BJ, a war not only destroys everything, it swallows everything precious. What you create here must carry you, but it cannot carry you beyond this war -- it mustn't follow you beyond Korea."

_Just like mine mustn't._

"Well, I think I've figured something out. Maybe it's that feeling -- that connectedness with someone else that no one at home could understand, much less replicate -- that draws me to Hawkeye. And maybe it's that relationship that binds us, stronger than silk thread in surgery, that will keep my sanity preserved until this ordeal is over."

"You certainly seem sure of yourself. I think you're on the right track, BJ."

"And finally, maybe Hawk is comfortable enough with me that he can play around, screw up, and know that when he comes back into the Swamp trashed that I'll still be his friend. So maybe that importance, that specialness that I feel when I'm near him, is the one thing that keeps Hawk so preoccupied."

"That's a good thought, BJ. I think you should talk to Hawkeye."

"Thanks, Father. I guess maybe I will. After I write the letter to my wife, though."

"Good luck," Father Mulcahy said, as BJ disappeared out the door. He stood, wandered over to his dresser, and pulled out a framed picture.

_Lord, what forms temptation takes. His is a natural beauty, a personality that paints his outward form in light -- and I have taken a vow. I will not break it. Not even for him-- But I will watch from afar, and hope he finds happiness with whoever he can. But Lord, please, answer me this: why did you send your angel in the mortal form of a man, and a man I can love but cannot have?_

Father Mulcahy quickly hid the picture again, and went to lie down on his cot. His eyes on the ceiling, he drifted off to sleep and into a world of dreams that featured a man he could never possess, not even in his dreams.

~*~*~

BJ entered the Swamp as quietly as he could only to find that Hawkeye and Charles were still awake, and playing a game of chess. It was obvious to BJ that Charles was winning -- which didn't surprise him -- but Hawk looked wretched, dark circles the color of the night sky coloring the flesh beneath his eyes.

"Hey, BJ."

"Hello, Hunnicutt."

"Hey. Look, I'm just gonna sleep. Pretend I'm not here."

"What a novel concept."

"Anything for you, Beej." Hawkeye said absently. He moved his knight, and clenched his teeth when Charles captured it. "Damn! I should stick to poker."

"Night, Hawk. Night, Charles."

"Night, Beej. Hey, did you write that letter?" Hawkeye looked up at BJ as he began to strip out of his army-issue pants.

"Nah. I'll do it in the morning."

"Hey, Charles, could you scram for a bit? I want to tuck BJ in."

"Cretins," Charles sniffed, then exited the tent.

"Bet he's off to try and get Klinger out of his dresses again."

"That all you think about, Hawk?"

"No, BJ, that isn't all. Actually I wanted to tell you I think you're doing a noble thing."

"Hawkeye, I love my wife. Very much. I adore my daughter. But I _do_ love you, in many indefinable ways. And yet -- I owe her something I don't owe you. I'm not gay, Hawk. And I'm not gonna tear apart a whole marriage just because Korea makes everything different."

"I know, Beej. But look at it this way. She's thousands of miles away, and she's gonna play the field till you come back. She said so. She never said anything about love. Well, I want to play you like that bugle Radar has -- only better. And when this war is over, you go home. Love -- well, love isn't even a word in my vocabulary."

"Thanks, Hawkeye."

"Anytime." Hawk leaned over and placed a gentle amount of pressure against BJ's barely-parted lips.

"I love my wife, Hawk..."

"I know. And I aim to kiss better than anyone, guy, girl, or horse. Now shut up." Hawkeye increased the tension of their mouths, and BJ's eyes closed involuntarily. And if love was lurking in Hawkeye's mind, he didn't mention it. If Trapper was lonely, he nonetheless didn't come running for Hawkeye.

And this kiss fused them in Korea, _with_ Korea, and there was nothing outside of Korea in their minds or their mouths.

They fell asleep half-tangled in each other's arms and blankets, and Charles didn't come home.

Somewhere in the compound a lonely priest loved within his dreams; and a long-forgotten man with a wife and two daughters paced Sophie's stall.

But if there was no love in Korea...

...never let it be said that there were no romantic alliances.

~*~*~

When spring finally dawned, Hawkeye and BJ had worked out a comfortable arrangement of not speaking unless they had to -- and they read each other's thoughts so often it wasn't quite necessary -- and not allowing their baser instincts rein unless they were alone and unable to concentrate.

Perhaps needless to say they had difficulties concentrating often.

"If kisses were roses, Hawk, what would this be?"

"A horse."

"Pardon?"

"And wishes are horses. Now, shut up, and kiss me. Damn, Beej, you talk too much when we're alone."

"Sorry, Hawk. Hey, whatever happened with Trapper? I never see him."

"He transferred to the 8063rd MASH last month, because even though we're good friends, it's painful to be too near him. It's a wound I doubt even I could heal, even if I _could_ open up my memories and perform surgery on them. How's Peggy?"

"She says she's lonely but holding up, and Erin is speaking short sentences now. Dammit, I miss them."

"I know you do." Hawkeye covered BJ's lips with his finger, then took BJ's finger in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.

Father Mulcahy heard the sounds in the supply tent as he passed, but he chose to ignore them. That night, he said five extra Hail Marys.

\--------------  
 _It's a time honored resolution_  
Because the danger is always near  
It's with you now  
But that ain't how it was supposed to be


	4. Angels Watching Over Me

\-------------  
 _There'll be no-one to save  
with the world in a grave_  
\-------------

The years since the Korean "police action" had grown wings and taken flight, and one morning Hawkeye opened his eyes and realized it was Erin's birthday. He was lying alone in his non-regulation civilian bed, sun splashing streamers of light on the walls, the water running in the bathroom indicating his father was awake and showering.

Throughout the years Hawkeye had tried to become independent, he really had. In Korea most everyone had seemed to depend on him -- both after _and_ before he was chief surgeon -- and there had been a time where Hawkeye had believed he could make a life for himself outside of war.

But the lessons learned in a time of extreme conflict, a time when his life was one giant question mark, did not fall away easily. He'd often hoped that they would, but it was a vain dream, a fact he'd finally begun to accept. He'd moved out of the house he shared with his father no less than four times, twice into an apartment, once all the way to Boston, and once he'd travelled as far as California. But each time he was back at home within a matter of months, and the particular Mill Valley excursion had been terminated in less than a week.

Daniel Pierce had had to fly out to California and retrieve his son, who had suffered yet another mental collapse. It had been three years since Hawkeye had tried to strike it out on his own, and he had essentially given up trying. The ghost of Korea still writhed in his blood, and he was forced to settle for small town doctoring and surgery, and allow his father to handle everything Hawkeye couldn't.

He would have gone to see Sidney again, but the barest reminder of Korea and the war sent him into mental convulsions, and even Sidney may have exacerbated the issue.

So Hawkeye stayed with his father and tried to recuperate.

It was a beautiful day, Hawkeye noted as he meandered through his backyard. As lovely as any he'd remembered or come to expect from Maine. He hoped it was as much of a luscious day for Erin, who would be turning sixteen. Hawkeye heaved a heavy breath. He'd long since given up on exchanging letters with BJ and Trapper -- neither of them ever wrote back, and Hawkeye _did_ understand why. Their lives had not included him in the beginning, and the place he filled in Korea was one that _only_ existed in Korea.

There was no room for him in peacetime.

Which is why he never wrote, and never sent Erin's sixteenth birthday present.

\-------------  
 _And you can't talk about it  
And isn't that a kind of madness  
To be living by a code of silence  
When you've really got a lot to say_  
\-------------

A young girl with shoulder-length auburn hair twirled in front of her bedroom mirror. She had large, astonishingly pure-colored golden eyes, and she was wearing the extra-special gift her father had given her. It was a long, satin dress the color of the ocean just after a storm, and it was entirely backless almost down to her bottom. She loved it.

Erin Hunnicutt was sixteen years old, and dressing for her first date: a semi-formal dance with a guy from school. Under her pillow was a stack of letters, all of them addressed to her father, from a man called Hawkeye Pierce.

Every letter asked about her, asked about BJ's life, job, or her mother. They all seemed so inane, but her father cried every time one came in the mail, and refused to read them.

So Erin stole them out of the trash late at night, and read and read, and wondered what Hawkeye Pierce had meant to her father. She knew that he had served as a surgeon in the Korean War -- "No matter what your history teachers tell you, Erin, your father knows the truth about this one. It was a war, plain and simple," -- and she knew that Hawkeye and Charles (although Frank was first) had been her father's tentmates.

But he never spoke of them.

In fact, he'd hardly spoken a word about the war since he'd returned home, and that had been back when she was barely three years old.

Erin didn't understand what had happened while he was gone, but she'd never forget the vicious arguments between her parents when he'd returned.

_"I don't care what you say you did over there! I know you have 'needs' -- all you men say that -- and so what if I took a little comfort somewhere else! Wouldn't have thought_ you _of all people would be so jealous!"_

_"Well, I was more faithful than anyone -- just ask Hawkeye -- and I come back and he_ lives _here?"_

_"He's gone now, BJ! I told you it was temporary. I kicked him out as soon as I heard that you were coming home."_

_"But you_ fucked _him!"_

_"Not in front of Erin..."_

So pretty much all Erin could infer was that her father had meant something special to Hawkeye Pierce, who kept writing -- he'd only finally given it up about two years before -- even though he never received a response. Once or twice Erin had been tempted to write Hawkeye, but she was afraid of what she'd find out. So she left it alone.

She twisted a curl between sweaty fingers, and wondered where her last cigarette had gotten to. Her dad would have been furious if he knew, but he was never around.

He didn't live at home anymore -- hadn't in almost seven years. And before that, he slept in hotels so often he may as well not have lived there.

And her mom never seemed to notice, not even if Erin smoked in the house. Once she'd gotten so drunk on her father's leftover gin that she'd thrown up all over the living room carpet. Her mother hadn't noticed then, either: she'd just wearily cleaned it up and gone back to bed.

Erin sighed. Her birthday was supposed to be important, but her dad hadn't even called yet -- and it was already six p.m. -- and her mother was 'resting,' with a headache, again. She was going to pin Erin's hair so it was a waterfall of auburn curls curtaining her naked back, but she 'didn't feel well.'

She never felt well anymore.

\------------  
 _Once there were trenches and walls and one point of every view  
Fight 'til the other man falls  
Kill him before he kills you  
These days the edges are blurred, I'm old and tired of war  
I hear the other man's words  
I'm not that sure anymore_  
\------------

War had destroyed so many more lives than just the physical.

\------------  
 _Why you gotta say that love has gone away  
It’s not like that   
Everybody hurts when the feelings fade_  
\------------

Erin would never forget the sounds that emanated from her mother's bedroom throughout the years. It alternated heartbroken tears with soft moans, as her mother often invited over the man she'd fallen in love with while her dad was in Korea, and just as often she'd cry for hours after they had sex. Erin didn't know how she knew that's what they were doing, but she did.

And she wished her mother wouldn't cry so hard.

It wasn't her dad's fault that he was a different person, a stranger.

It wasn't her mother's fault she'd been lonely.

And heaven knew, it wasn't Erin's fault...

...was it?

\-------------  
 _you still have a rage inside you  
That you carry with a certain pride  
In the only part of the broken heart  
That you could ever save_  
\-------------

BJ groaned and rolled over. The hangover from the previous night was as bad as any he'd had in Korea, even if the gin was much better in the States. His apartment was tiny, with a bedroom and a bathroom, and everything else condensed into one room. He cracked an eye open, looked at the lighted numbers on the digital bedside clock. Even that faint, soothing red scalded his eyes, and he snapped them closed again.

"It's seven-thirty in the evening," he berated himself, "and it's your daughter's sixteenth birthday today. And you, like a common drunk, are lying hungover in your bachelor apartment."

BJ was never quite certain where things had gone wrong. He was positive, however, that Hawkeye must never find out. Hawk must _never_ learn that BJ's marriage had begun crumbling from the day he'd returned, and like ashes to the earth, had dissolved entirely within a few months. Peg and he had given it the old college try, counseling, hypnotism even, _everything_. But she was still in love with two people -- and so was he, although she wasn't aware of _who_ it was -- and he was shell-shocked and different from the war. He saw bloody limbs in his sleep that he could not heal.

He was a surgeon who had become naught more than a failure and an adulterer. Peggy could tell he was different, and he was bitter and furious over her infidelity, and the marriage simply could not withstand the extreme pressure.

The thing that snapped the bond between them, though, was something that happened to Erin. His daughter didn't remember it, but once -- only once, Peggy had screamed desperately -- her one-time lover had burst into their home, drunk -- while BJ was in late-night surgery at the hospital where he worked -- and had mistaken Erin in the dark for Peggy.

He'd had his fingers under her nightgown before Peggy had gone shrieking into the room.

Much as BJ knew it wasn't Peg's fault, it cemented the resentment and the fact that he didn't feel like he could trust her anymore. Despite his fear for Erin's safety -- a fact that kept him trying to live at home for _many_ years longer than he thought he could bear -- he finally gave it up and moved out. The divorce was final before Hawkeye came to Mill Valley.

\-------------  
 _After you've heard lie upon lie  
There can hardly be a question of why_  
\-------------

"Hawkeye, listen, you can't just come down here. Peg and I are planning a private party for our anniversary. Yes, of _course_ we're still much in love. Love doesn't just fade, Hawk."

"But BJ, I heard you were divorced."

"I don't know who told you that, Hawk. Please, I can't see you anymore. Ever. Please don't call me again," and BJ had hung up the phone, tears thick in his lashes and throat. Two weeks later Hawkeye had appeared at Peggy's house, and she'd called BJ, and for a miserable several days they pretended to be perfectly happy, Erin wandered the house like a wan spirit, and Hawkeye tried to engage her but failed. One rotten experience and the glow that made his Erin the light of his life had been extinguished. Erin was still the only bright spot he had left -- like holding a glass bubble in his hands, and waiting for it to burst, the same way all the others had -- and he was terrified he'd lose her further to her trauma. Hawkeye collapsed one morning, screaming, eyes utterly wild, the blue so translucent that BJ thought he could see the blood pumping beneath.

Daniel Pierce had retrieved his son and promised to keep him away from them. Even Hawkeye's father had believed that they were still a happy couple, and if Erin didn't smile, he never asked why.

Hawkeye sent letters, constantly, but BJ couldn't bear to open them, much less read them.

And Korea was a serpent in his memory, poisoning everything good he'd stored away. It was a good thing that Father Mulcahy had moved nearby.

\------------  
 _Shades of grey wherever I go  
The more I find out the less that I know  
Ain't no rainbows shining on me  
Shades of grey are the colors I see_  
\------------

"Father, I'm so glad you could come. As you can see, Erin is quite lost. Peg and I are at the end of our ropes. We want her to be healthy and happy, but what else can we do?"

"Now, my son, trust in the Almighty, preserver of all things. He shall carry your daughter home, you may be assured of that."

"Father -- it's Erin. She's been screaming at night again."

"Father, it's Hawkeye. He's been asking for you in his sleep again. He never rests the way he used to. He just tosses and turns and begs for you, and Trapper, and BJ... What should I do?"

"Give him a mild sedative and let the nightmares work themselves out. And trust as hard as you can in the power of the Almighty."

\-------------  
 _And you can't talk about it  
Because you're following a code of silence  
You're never gonna to lose the anger  
You just deal with it a different way_  
\-------------

Now, Erin was sixteen and much improved -- if a bit rebellious -- and BJ felt as thought he was the lost one. When, and how, had he misplaced himself? The purpose of his life?

The warm spread of love as it ran in his blood? His head ached fiercely, but he picked up the phone.

"Hey, Erin? It's Daddy. Did you like the dress? Aww, honey, I'd love to. But I'm a little indisposed at the moment -- flu, darling. Happy birthday, love. Really, I'd like to visit, angel, but I can't. I'm sick and I have surgical meetings. Listen, have a good time at the dance, and have a good birthday. I love you, too. Yeah, Erin tell mom I said hi. Bye-bye."

\--------------

"Who's that, sweetheart?" called her mother from the darkened bedroom.

"It's Dad. He says hi, and I think he's drunk off his shit again."

"Ohh, Erin...watch your language..."

"I'll be home later, Ma. See ya."

\--------------  
 _But you've been through it once  
You know how it ends  
You don't see the point  
Of going through it again_  
\--------------

BJ fumbled for the phone cradle, hung it up, and winced. He felt like his entire body was slowly coming unthreaded.

It was a hell no worse than Korea.

It was a hell made infinitely worse by the remembrance of times in Korea.

And the biggest headache, the one burning reason he drank, bore the name Hawkeye.

The man he loved, and the man he could never see nor speak to again.

\--------------  
 _Faded photograph  
Covered now with lines and creases  
Tickets torn in half, memories in bits and pieces  
Traces of love long ago that didn't work out right_  
\--------------

So Hawkeye wandered outside under the waning sun, breathed in deeply and savored the scent of breeze off the saltwater, and prayed for the first time in his life since Korea. He prayed that Erin would be safe, and BJ was happy and in love.

But something had felt so wrong about Mill Valley when he'd been there.

It was like sifting through his memories on the bus, and finding that a baby had been misrepresented as a chicken, and he knew something--

Something was being folded and reopened at a different angle.

The perspective was all wrong.

And BJ looked too happy, and Peg looked too worn and brittle, and Erin...

Erin had looked like a faint, transparent grey shadow. There was no color in her eyes, no spark to her skin. She appeared as though one day she would just vanish, like smoke too long out of the chimney.

And Hawkeye? Hawkeye had collapsed, confronted again with the same sort of miseries that had bled his life from him while he was in Korea.

Thus, he prayed. He prayed for Trapper, who had been divorced for twelve years but had married a girl six years younger than he, a girl who couldn't place Korea on a map. He prayed for Kathy, Becky, and Evie, the infant that Trapper had been home just long enough to sire before filing for divorce.

He prayed for his father, Daniel Pierce, who was finally beginning to ail. He asked that he be healthy and strong soon, so that Daniel would be relieved of the burden of caring for his grown-but-irreparably damaged son.

And at last he prayed for Peg, Erin, and BJ -- in that order.

\---------------  
 _Goin on up to the Spirit in the sky_  
\---------------

And somewhere in the sky, a cloud shifted, and a presence could be felt.

A devout Catholic priest, once a chaplain in a dismal war, folded his hands, and he knew -- 

\--someone up there still listened.

_Near misses all around me, accidents unknown,  
Though I never see with human eyes the hands that lead me home_


	5. A Matter of Trust

\------------  
 _Got a call from an old friend  
We used to be real close  
Said he couldn't go on the American way_  
\------------

Hawkeye huffed out a breath, watched the sun disappear distantly over the golden-streaked sea, and turned to walk back inside his house. That was about when his father came tearing out of the house, cordless phone in hand.

"Hawk! Hawkeye! It's for you. Some surgeon you served with," Daniel called over the sound of the rushing waves under the cliffside. Hawkeye broke into a run, grabbed the receiver, and tried the ignore the leap of his heart. It could be BJ!

"Hey, old friend. It's me."

"Trapper." Hawkeye tried to suppress the disappointment that filled his body from the feet, and slogged upwards, until it caused his brain to reel.

"Yeah. Listen, Karin's gone all crazy on me, again, and Evie's been visiting for two weeks now. Look, it's lonely, and Karin's -- well, she's actually gone. But I was thinking. Want to meet Evie? She's almost thirteen. Actually, I was kinda hoping that blistering charm of yours could rein her in, keep her in line."

"Sorry, Trapper."

"Hawk? You all right? You don't sound all right."

"I'm not. I haven't been all right since I was born. And unlike some people, I'm still living at home."

"Look, Hawk, the self-pity thing goes a little too far sometimes. I can feel it in Boston. If you change your mind, I'd love to have you. I miss you, you know."

"Should've thought of _that_ , Trap, when you left without goodbye. Twice."

"I didn't exactly plan the second time, Hawk! I left on a stretcher, unconscious, geez. Cut me a break? You're so fucking good at cutting everything else, after all."

"Sorry, Trap. Hey, see you." Hawk clicked the button before his once-best friend could reply.

There was nothing more Trapper could say to him, not one more thing he wanted to hear. So Hawkeye handed the phone back to his father, and turned back towards the twilight-ridden cliffs. Daniel watched his son, and wondered what had gone so wrong between him and Trapper. But he shrugged and resolved not to ask, the same way he'd been not-asking about Korea for the last thirteen years.

\--------------  
 _This time you've got nothing to lose  
You can take it, you can leave it  
Whatever you choose_  
\--------------

At last, BJ thought. At last the ache was so dull he could almost ignore it. Erin had finally turned seventeen, and she was out of his hair somewhat -- he loved her, but Peg had finally crashed a year and a half previously, sending Erin to live with BJ -- and Erin was a trial he wasn't prepared for. He knew nothing about teenagers. The extent of his knowledge about teenagers was, to be brutally honest, Hawkeye and Radar. If that weren't bad enough, he didn't _know_ Erin anymore. The little girl he'd left was not the little girl he'd come home to, and in the years intervening, he began to feel as if she was drifting even farther away.

She smoked, for one thing, and no matter what he said she wouldn't quit it. She snuck drinks from his liquor cabinet, and in one truly oversized error he'd gotten drunk with her -- his own daughter for heaven's sake -- and poured out stories about Hawkeye and the war.

They'd both been so sick the following morning that she had skipped school -- with his permission -- and he didn't think she'd remembered anything about Hawkeye Pierce. But finally, after fourteen and a half years, he could think about Hawkeye without wanting to scream. 

At last he could recall the soft wave of black hair that kissed his forehead, the blue-ice-chipped eyes, the long lean lines of his body, the stoop of his shoulders, the angle of his shoulder blades and the smooth plane of his belly.

And all it did was bring a dull, throbbing ache to his abdomen.

And yet...

...BJ knew it was all over. The hiding, the waiting, the screaming inwardly and staying away -- hell, he'd been screaming inside ever since he'd hugged Hawk that one final time and said goodbye -- fourteen years of silent screaming.

The jokes that kept Hawkeye from screaming rotted within BJ's heart, and he knew it was time to put his hands through the smoky screen that kept him from interacting with his life.

With what felt like a rock razing the back of his throat, he picked up the phone.

\-------------

~*~*~

\-------------  
 _After the moment passes  
And the impulse disappears  
You can still hold back  
Because you don't crack very easily_  
\-------------

Hawkeye moved through his house on total autopilot, the feeling of both relief and fear so thick he could barely breathe. BJ had called, after so many years of non-contact, and begged Hawkeye to come down to California and visit.

But Hawkeye had refused. The terror that had stricken him, that seeing BJ would catapult him back over that threshold of insanity, had left him cold and weak. Instead, BJ had offered to come to Maine, and in just a few minutes, he and Erin would be arriving in Crabapple Cove.

Hawkeye just wished that he knew what to say -- for once in his life he was completely at a loss for words.

When the doorbell rang, Hawkeye startled so badly that his hands shook. They'd been trembling a lot more often lately, but now they moved so much he dropped an entire piece of toast -- with only a light sprinkling of cinnamon on it -- onto the kitchen floor. He walked slowly into the living room, where the front door opened into, and tried to keep his soul in step with his body.

God help him, he was more frightened about opening the door to BJ, an old lover, than he'd been when shells were exploding practically next to his head. When he unlocked it and opened it, the first thing he noticed was that BJ looked like a washed out watercolor painting, and Erin's once strawberry-blonde hair was midnight black. Her fingernails were orange, and her clothes were lacy and fishnet black things, and her eyes held the same haunted expression as her father's. Did they mirror his own? Hawkeye wondered. She was too much color next to BJ's lack, and together they made his eyes ache. BJ's goofy moustache was gone, and between them they had one suitcase.

\-------------  
 _I'm sure you're aware love  
We've both had our share of   
Believing too long  
When the whole situation was wrong_  
\-------------

"Hey, Hawk. This is Erin--"

"--he knows, Dad, he met me before, remember?"

"You were blonde then--"

"BJ." It was a whisper, a rusty hoarse gasp that fell from Hawkeye's lips.

"Yeah, it's me, Hawk. Erin kind of burned down our apartment just before we left, so there's really no place to go home to."

"But Peg..."

"Hawk, I lied to you. Peggy and I have been separated since Erin was six years old, and divorced since she turned eleven. We were already legally no longer husband and wife when you dropped in."

"Oh, BJ..."

"Has it been so long then, Hawk? Has fourteen years really disappeared like the end of a whistled tune? I loved you. You were my heart, my sanity in the insane asylum of that terrible war."

"I knew it," Erin proffered.

"Of course you did. You've been reading the letters for years..."

"But you didn't read them?"

"I couldn't, Hawk--"

"He cried. He missed my birthday -- when I was sixteen -- because he was drunk off his ass."

"Hawkeye, I-- It's so incredible to be standing here."

"Where's the bathroom?" Erin asked, and Hawkeye pointed, and then they were alone. Before either had a second to think they were in each other's arms, holding on so tightly it was as if even the war could not rip their hearts asunder.

"Fused in Korea, reborn in the States, and at last home in my love."

"You've become a poet, BJ."

"Erin studies it."

"Kiss me, BJ."

"If it's the last thing I ever do..."

Their mouths felt strange, yet appropriate, and a cool streak slowly wound them together, coloring crimson, and burning hotter than the blood ever did...

"It won't be much, Beej. Erin'll have to sleep on the couch."

"Nah. I have some money, and your father really needs some rest. I'm gonna take you away from here, and never look back."

"I'm not looking back. The war is all I have. It's like I'm a photograph, frozen in those painful years of my life."

"And I've been nothing but an unwritten sheet of paper, then, Hawkeye. I can give you the security you've been craving, and you can give me my heart back."

"If wishes were horses, Beej..." Hawk muttered wistfully.

"Then your ship just came in on horseback," BJ replied.

And their fingers twined together.

\--------------  
 _And it's hard to believe after all these years  
That it still gives you pain and it still brings tears  
And you feel like a fool  
Because it's part of your rules  
You've got a memory_  
\--------------

Six months later Daniel Pierce died of a surprise heart attack.

Radar finally got married, to a girl named Shannyn Pierce, no relation to Hawkeye.

And one lonely, leftover priest thanked God for the miracles wrought among the destruction of their lives.

He presided over Erin's wedding when she was twenty, and received a kiss from the honorary father amidst the joyful celebrating.

Erin did not remain married long, but it never mattered.

All that was ever left to matter was that two halves broken in Korea -- two damaged souls coalesced together and healed them for the last time.

There might not have been a happily ever after, but Korea lived on in their minds cloaked in a dusky rose cover.

\--------------  
 _But you can't talk about it_  
Because you're following a code of silence  
You're never gonna to lose the anger  
You just deal with it a different way


	6. Learning Curve

"Dad?" 

"Yeah?" BJ turned around to look at his daughter, who was standing at the bottom of the staircase, half of her body in view, the other half hidden by the wall. Her black hair was tumbled all around her face and shoulders, and she was wearing a dark blue nightgown that was sliding down on one side. He cocked his head at her. "Where's Hawkeye, Erin?"

She shrugged. "I haven't a clue. Listen, Dad, do you think I could take the car to school today?"

"Only if Hawkeye doesn't mind." BJ put down the frying pan he was rinsing out, and reached for the dish towel. In a rare moment of helpfulness, Erin came the rest of the way into the room, snagged the towel, and handed it to her father. Her feet were bare, and she was chewing on the fingernail polish on one hand.

"Anyway, Dad, I'm not going to eat breakfast this morning."

"And why's that?"

"Not hungry," Erin replied, then grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter. "I'll just bring an apple for lunch. I'm gonna go find Hawkeye and ask him about the car."

"Erin," BJ warned, "You _know_ it's not a good idea to miss breakfast."

"It's hard to forget. I just wish apples really _did_ keep doctors away, maybe then the two of you would keep off my back!" Erin burst out. BJ groaned inwardly. He appreciated her sense of humor -- who could live with Hawkeye and not begin to think the way he did -- but he could've lived without her adolescent explosions, which were still coming on much too frequently. Hawkeye had tempered her behavior somewhat -- the advent of his sense of humor and sparkling charm, BJ guessed -- but Erin still seemed overly prickly around her own father.

"Erin, even if you ate every apple in the house it wouldn't help. After all, we live here," BJ informed her. She rolled her eyes and left the kitchen, apparently refusing to answer. Moments after her unceremonious departure, Hawkeye entered the kitchen, a shoe perched on one hand.

"Cooking breakfast, Beej?"

"Sure, Hawk. Did you see my ever-charming daughter on your way past, by any chance? She just stormed out of here like she had fire under her heels."

"Well, it's cloudy at 4 'o-clock, Beej. In other words, here she comes."

"God, I hope not," BJ replied, twisting Hawkeye's words into a double entendre.

"Hawkeye?" Erin said, her voice musical and pleasant.

"Ye-es, madam?" he answered her, imitating her syrupy tone of voice.

"Listen, Hawkeye, there's this totally gorgeous guy at school, and he wants to take me out, but I'll need the car. He wants to leave after school. So, can I?"

"Ask your father." Hawkeye grabbed a handful of grapes and brought them to his nose. "Whoa, Beej, I'll never get used to food actually smelling fresh."

"He told me to ask you.”

“No cigarettes in it, then, and be back by 7pm.”

“What for? I’m old enough for a later curfew than that!” Erin protested.

“Because you have homework and I’m going to need the car. And yes, you may be old enough, but every time we’ve let you stay out late you come back around 3am. Your dad and I need to sleep, so make sure you’ve got your butt back in this house before we’re in bed, or you’re staying out and sleeping in the proverbial doghouse.”

“Da-ad!” Erin whined. “Hawkeye is _not_ being reasonable.”

BJ turned from his eggs and smiled at her. “I think he is, kiddo. So you’d better get used to it, and if you want any time with that car, you better get dressed and scram.”

“And get breakfast before you go driving anywhere. There’s a no fainting rule in that car.”

“Not funny, Hawkeye,” Erin scowled, then whirled and flounced up the stairs.

“Spoken like a true teenager,” Hawkeye commented. “I will never get used to them or understand them.”

“Some complain about the terrible twos,” BJ said, “but I find the terrible teens are worse.”

“Shave the moustache, BJ. Otherwise I’m going to complain about the terrible thirtysomethings.”

“Hawkeye, we’ve discussed this. I like my moustache, and you like your girlie magazines. Now, it’s not only Erin that I worry about with those.”

“Oh, Beej,” Hawkeye said, a hand thrown over his heart. “As if _anyone_ could make my heart flutter as you do. Pitter-pat, and it drums out a romantic melody...”

“Hawk, shut up. I could do without the theatrics.”

“Me, too!” called Erin from upstairs. “And if you’re going to talk about me, you might want to do it where I can’t hear you!”

“Pity they don’t make children with mute buttons.”

“I heard that, Hawkeye! I’m not a child!”

“I was actually referring to your father,” Hawkeye called back. BJ tossed the dish towel over Hawkeye’s head. “Hey, what’d I do?” he asked, muffled by the damp fabric. Erin came thundering down the stairs, her teased black hair yanked into a sideways ponytail and wearing a pair of black leggings underneath a black lace blouse. Her belt was buckled by a silver skull. BJ rolled his eyes down into his eggs, and Hawkeye jerked his head sideways and knocked the dish towel to the floor. He whistled.

“Now _that_ , my dear, is called style. Klinger would be positively proud.”

She whacked him with something, presumably her knapsack, and strutted out the door, which she slammed as loud as possible.

“She didn’t get breakfast,” Hawkeye observed, polishing an apple of his own on his Hawaiian shirt.

“Hawk, I agree that the getup is ridiculous. But you’re hardly one to talk, with the lack of fashion sense that _you_ sport.”

“Ah, the envy drips from your tone.”

“Hawk, can it. Again. I’m not in the mood for your shenanigans, I get enough of those from my irrepressible and uncontrollable daughter.”

“Sorry, Beej.”

“Forgiven. Eggs?”

“No, thank you, I prefer chickens.”

“Hawk--” BJ warned. Hawkeye threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“All right, I cede. I’ll try to rein in my mouth for a bit. Over hard, Beej.” He snickered. BJ glared. Hawkeye schooled his face into an expression of innocence, but his blue eyes sparkled. BJ rolled his eyes heavenward again.

“Good Lord, _two_ of them. You and she are two of a kind, I swear.”

“Don’t swear, BJ, the Lord is listening.”

“You’ve been corresponding too much with Father Mulcahy.”

“Of course I have. He’s going to get me into heaven for half-price.”

“Two teenagers. I have _two_ teenagers and they’re both nuts, disgusting, and self-centered.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Beej.”

“I was talking about _you_ , Hawkeye.”

“You were just as disgusting,” Hawkeye reminded him.

“I appear to have gotten over it.”

“So you say. Masquerading as a responsible adult, BJ?”

“Not a chance. I’m just not as full of high jinks as you, now that we’re home.”

“Easy to say: Home. BJ, I haven’t been home in over seventeen years. The last time I felt like that was before I got drafted.”

“We’re not back in Korea, Hawkeye.”

“Remember Ralph? And how he surrendered to everyone? Or how we kept surrendering to each other? How we never spoke the language -- that time I crashed my jeep and chattered at a family in what may as well have been Korean, except it wasn’t, because they didn’t understand? Does the blood ever go away, BJ?”

“Don’t think about Korea, Hawk.”

“It’s forgotten.”

“About Erin.”

“She’s still wild and running.”

“And you gave her the car.”

“And she won’t be home by seven. I’m trying something.”

“Don’t try parenting, Hawk, until _you_ don’t need it anymore.”

“Do I, Beej? Isn’t that why I’m here? To help you deal with Erin?”

“Why do _you_ think you’re here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because I want you here, among other things. I don’t want you to _parent_ Erin, just use your indefatigable charm on her. That’s all.”

“Well, I figure that if I give Erin too much leeway, she’ll eventually tire of being rebellious.”

“Did it work on you, Hawk?”

“Not a chance. But I’m not Erin, either. I grew up with my dad. My rebellious streak came into existence after I got drafted.”

“Figures.”

“Erin had a rocky beginning, and a turbulent childhood. If I had to guess I’d say that she was so used to the rollercoaster that now she’s afraid to get off.”

“Hawk--” BJ flipped the eggs onto a plate, “where did you major in psychology?”

“In the Swamp, at Sidney Freedman’s university of wartime psychology.”

“What?”

“Wartime psychology is not so different. Frank, Trapper, and Charles -- they all had something unique gnawing at their psyches, as does Erin. She was forged in war, too, but with her it was domestic battles that she had to learn to survive.”

“Hawk. Shut up.” BJ tossed down the spatula he was holding, put a hand on the small of Hawkeye’s back and guided him closer until their abdomens were touching. BJ studied Hawkeye, eyes flicking back and forth, following the shifty movement of the blue eyes that were darker than his own -- they’d always been deeper, murkier with something more solid hidden within, and BJ raised his thumb, covered Hawkeye’s bottom lip. Then he leaned forward, slipping his thumb out of the way, and initiated a kiss. Eyes closed, BJ used to his thumb and forefinger to guide Hawkeye’s haunted eyes shut as he simultaneously opened Hawk’s mouth with the insistent pressure of his tongue. After a moment, Hawkeye pushed BJ away and opened his eyes.

“My eggs are getting cold,” he said, wiping BJ’s saliva from his damp lips.

“I’ll make you new ones.”

“I’m sick of new ones.”

“Hawkeye, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to. I’ll be lying down.” Hawkeye went slowly up the stairs, and BJ began to scrape congealed eggs into the trash can. He sighed. Hawkeye and Erin -- the two people he loved most -- were supposed to offset each other, play complements to each other.

Sometimes it worked.

“Sometimes it doesn’t.”

\---------------------------------

“My dad’s car.” Erin flashed all her teeth. “And this other guy’s. Said I could stay out all night if I wanted.”

“Somehow, I doubt your daddy would let a pretty girl like you stay out so late.” The man speaking was tall, with sandy hair and dark eyes.

“Does it matter if he would?” she shot back, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. The engine idled, and she pushed the passenger door open. “Get in.”

“Gary,” he introduced himself as he climbed into the car. “I’m Richard’s dad.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s a grade below me. Cool.” Erin accelerated. “Where’s a good, private place?” she asked.

“My house. My wife’s at work.”

“Groovy.” Erin changed lanes and grinned at him.

“That smile could soften metal, sweetheart,” he murmured, sliding a large, calloused hand underneath her hair. Erin drew in a breath, mewled as his other hand worked its way inside her jeans. He kissed her and she swerved.

“Pull over,” he whispered into her ear, which was damp from his breath. She obeyed, and he tugged her zipper down. The sun showered them with an explosion of multicolored streaks as it set. He played with her lips with his tongue, his fingers thrust busily, she screamed -- arched -- he plunged, she bellowed--

\-----------------------------

The sharp, fresh, ruby-hued scratch was starkly highlighted by moonlight.

“Why do you do this?” he asked her, thumb tracing a scar just beneath one breast.

“No reason.” Erin pushed him away from her. “Hand me my cigarettes and then scram.”

“Come on, Erin, honey...”

“Alright, just beat it, then.” For one, heart-stopping second, Erin thought he was going to refuse, but then he got out of the car. She waited until he was out of sight, then found the scar he’d been examining. With her house key, she dragged her flesh open again. The trickle of blood crimsoned her bra as she dressed, but she ignored it, inserted the key into the ignition, and drove home, cigarette clamped between swollen, painted lips.

\------------------------------

BJ paced, paused to glare out the window, and then resumed his ceaseless pacing.

“She’ll be home soon.”

“It’s already past nine, Hawk.”

“SOP for teenagers. Give her ten more minutes.”

“Dammit!” BJ slammed his fist into the wall and Hawkeye winced. Loud noises still evoked Korea in his mind.

“Come here, Beej,” Hawkeye beckoned with a hand. BJ noticed the long slender fingers, beautiful both in surgery and inside himself, and then he was crossing the room and straddling his lover, their lips tangled together. Despite the initial passionate clash, they were both asleep in minutes, a fact that Erin discovered when she tiptoed in fifteen minutes later. She sighed, and retired to her room.

Downstairs, relaxed in a patch of moonlight, lay Hawk and BJ. They were sprawled on the couch, Hawk’s fingers twined in BJ’s hair; BJ’s leg resting against Hawk’s thigh, the palm of his hand steady and still over Hawkeye’s heart. They slept peacefully, uninterrupted by nightmares, while the moonlight breathed in sync with their repose.

\------------------------------

Upstairs, Erin fingered her father’s scalpel, with its perfect, obscenely beautiful edge. Cross-legged on her bed, a teddy bear facedown beside her, a solitary tear on her cheek, Erin gently lay down the scalpel. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, turning to face her mirror. The girl in her reflection glowered at her. Slowly, beginning with her shirt, Erin undressed. When she was naked, her fingers unerringly found their way to the scar beneath her breast.

“Why _do_ you do this?” she questioned her reflection silently. When no answer was forthcoming, she dug her toes into the thick pile of cream-colored carpeting. Without breaking contact with her own eyes, Erin leaned over her bed and retrieved the scalpel from the cheerful yellow bedspread. One delicate flick of her wrist and blood welled out of the shallow rift in her skin -- a scythe-shaped mark just above her hipbone, a crescent of crimson staining her flat lower midriff. A curved cut in the smooth, dry-cool flesh that strained over her pelvic bone. An empty smile stretched her lips, a single drop of blood hit the floor. The moon arched in through the windowpane, glassy on the pale lavender wall. Secreting the scalpel in a drawer, she pulled on low-rise panties and slipped a yellow-and-cream nightshirt over her head, ignoring the pull and dull ache in her groin. The blood on the carpet was amethyst in the dim illumination. It was dry by the time she’d drifted off to sleep on top of her comforter.


	7. From Where I Stand

“Erin!” BJ called, rolling down his window and waving frantically at her. He’d just gotten into his car, getting ready to drive to work, when he’d seen her. She grimaced at him, and began to inch back into the window. “Dammit, Erin, no smoking in my house. And hanging out that window is dangerous!”

She ignored him, slamming the window shut, and disappearing from view. She finished her cigarette within doors, stubbed it out on the side of her dresser, and searched around within the drawer for her father’s scalpel. School was a deadly bore, men always asked the same moronic questions, and she supposed that if she could stop itching and feeling violently ill, life might be almost tolerable.

Almost -- except that Hawkeye Pierce was singing arias in the shower (something about warm water being God’s best gift) and but for the bloody streak across the waistband of her pajama pants. The scalpel was slack in her hands, the cut new and still oozing and burning, and all of her clean clothes were strewn across the floor. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she stumbled into a cross-legged position on the floor, hand with scalpel pressed against her forehead. She swore when she realized she’d scratched her face when she’d fallen, a bad idea.

Someone might notice. 

She laughed when she heard her dad’s car drive back into the driveway: he always forgot something, and today he’d forgotten not only to kiss his live-in goodbye, but to cook breakfast for them both.

Another strangled giggle escaped, and she just wished she didn’t feel so sick. Climbing to her feet, she stared dazedly at her washed out appearance in the full-length mirror.

“You look like hell, babe. No guy is gonna even want you, though I’m not so sure I mind.” Downstairs she could hear the low rumble of Hawkeye’s voice, and the slightly higher pitched voice of her dad. She sighed, and collapsed backwards onto her bed.

She could afford to rest for a little bit longer.

\-------------------------------

“Hey, Hawkeye, have you seen my scalpel around?”

“New method of shaving?”

“No... But I had an old scalpel around here. The blade had gotten too dull so I brought it home to have it sharpened. I was halfway to work when I realized I didn’t have it with me.”

“You mean, almost out of the driveway, _maybe_ even out of the sigh of the house. Face it, Beej, you can never get five minutes away without realizing that you forgot something.”

“Just concentrate on the missing scalpel, Hawkeye,” BJ said distractedly, pawing through the linen closet.

“Haven’t seen it, Beej.” Hawkeye carefully maneuvered his razor over the gentle planes of his face as BJ finished in the closet and began to rummage around in the little cabinet under the sink. BJ reached across Hawk’s knee and Hawkeye stumbled. “Ow! BJ, could you please wait to do that until I’m finished? Otherwise I’m going to need some anesthesia and that scalpel, because I feel like I’m doing surgery on myself! In Korea!”

“Sorry, Hawk. Listen, I thought we decided not to mention Korea?”

“BJ, I’m not so delicate anymore.”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“And talked and talked _and_ talked about this. And I’m telling you, Bea and Jay, that I’m not going to crumble just like that cheese we ate in the middle of last night.”

“While Erin was asleep, thank goodness. I think she accepts us as partners, but more in the sense that she’d prefer not to think about it. So do you think you could keep your voice down?”

“All right.” Hawkeye cleared that last bit of shaving cream and reached for the aftershave. BJ, standing up, jolted his arm again, and Hawkeye spilled the aftershave down BJ’s freshly pressed shirt.

“Dammit! Hawkeye, can’t you be careful?”

“Can’t _you_ please stop trying to unhand me?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated.”

“What for? Generally you’re so easygoing that even a tornado wouldn’t phase you.”

“A tornado called Korea, Hawk?”

“Actually, this time I was thinking Vietnam.”

“Hawkeye, we’ve been through this. They’re not going to draft you again, not after that breakdown you had in Korea.”

“But they could draft _you_.”

“It’s unlikely.”

“I can’t believe this.” Hawkeye slammed down his razor and the bottle of aftershave, splashing water across the sink. “We just got out of a war barely over ten years ago, and already they’ve forgotten. Tommy died for this country, as did so many others -- I swear I knew them, BJ -- and already our beautiful, alleged _free_ country has gotten itself in yet _again_ where it doesn’t belong.”

“Hawkeye.”

“Yeah?”

“Forget the war. I know it upsets you, and believe me, Vietnam -- another police action -- gets my hackles up as well. But there’s nothing that we can do about it, and I’m not about to get involved. I’ve got you and Erin to think about now, and whatever she’s doing, even Peg.”

“It just makes me sick.”

“Which is why I don’t think we should be having this conversation,” BJ reminded him gently. “I don’t want you to get sick again.”

Hawkeye began putting things away underneath the sink. BJ stretched, and glanced in the mirror as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“The hospital ought to be jumping today. Those kids that keep protesting keep getting brought in because of tear gas burns and bayonet wounds. Dammit, I’m so sick of kids being the ones that get injured. Over here _and_ over there. Hawk, you wanna come in and give me a hand, or are you going to stay home with Erin?”

“Why’s Erin at home today?”

“School’s closed because of the protesters. I couldn’t get through the street if I tried; I have to take back roads into the hospital now.”

“I don’t know if she needs that much supervision, it’s been a few weeks since she did anything too rebellious.”

“I wonder if she knows where my scalpel is,” BJ said curiously, running a hand through his thinning hair.

“Give me a kiss, Beej, before you go.”

“I’m still gonna make some breakfast. You want pancakes or french toast?”

“I want a nurse with syrup, a doctor smothered in butter, and bacon on the side. Oh yeah, and another shot at surgery.”

“I can probably arrange for some buttered doctor later on, Hawk, when Erin has her date. But unfortunately I can’t do anything about the surgery. You know what Sidney says: as soon as you feel stable enough, go see him, and he can give you the O.K. as to whether you’re ready to be at an operating table again.”

“I didn’t lose it _that_ bad, BJ.”

“No, you just threw up all over the floor. Which, I might add, was odd even for you, Hawkeye.”

“Rotten eggs and the flu.”

“Is that what they call it nowadays? Perhaps it’s psychological flu? When you’re ready to face Sidney again you’ll probably be ready to cut again.”

Hawkeye dropped the towel he was holding and glared. BJ, arms akimbo, merely held the furious, steady blue eyes accusing him. Finally, Hawkeye let out a breath, slumped into a sitting position on top of the toilet.

“Hawk, you could’ve closed the seat first.”

“I didn’t feel like it. All right, you win, Beej. I’ll go in and talk to Sidney. But not today.”

“Which is what you said yesterday and the day before that.”

“Well, whatever. I’ll be all right soon enough. In the scheme of almost fifteen years, BJ, what’s another few months?”

“A lifetime. You wanna get cutting again, you need to get started. We’re not two young surgeons in Korea anymore, and life isn’t that simple.”

“Of course it isn’t. Life in Korea is simple: don’t get killed.”

“I know, Hawk. Listen, I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Oh, and if you see Erin, ask her if she’s stumbled on my scalpel lately?”

“You better hope she hasn’t, BJ, or else you’ll be treating foot wounds all over again.”

“Hawkeye, _please_ try to forget about Korea for five minutes.”

“I would be but--” Hawkeye stopped in mid-sentence, grabbing BJ by the arm and twisting him sideways. Erin came running full-tilt into the bathroom, hand covering her mouth, amber eyes wild. Hawkeye jumped to his feet, glad the toilet seat was up, and pushed BJ out of the bathroom -- there just wasn’t enough room for three people. She tumbled to her knees, let go of her mouth, and began vomiting. Hawkeye tugged her filthy, matted hair out of the way, rubbing her back in circles as she retched into the commode. BJ stood in the doorway, hands propped on the molding, watching his daughter with concerned eyes. When she finished, she sat up, then relaxed into Hawkeye’s open arms behind her.

“You all right there, kiddo?” Hawkeye asked her, with a worried expression of his own. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, tried to nod, but wound up hunched over the toilet retching again. Hawkeye kept her hair out of her face, waited for her to finish again. This time, she lay back against Hawkeye’s chest and didn’t move, breathing shallowly.

“Erin?” BJ asked, nervously pulling at a hangnail on his thumb. “Honey, are you all right?”

“I’m just a little... nauseated,” she rasped, closing her eyes.

“Get her some water, Beej.”

“Oh, God, no,” she moaned, fumbling for Hawkeye’s hand.

“Just to rinse with, not to drink. Try to relax, okay?”

“Okay.” Her head lolled against his shoulder, and he squeezed her hand. BJ returned with a glass of water, and squatted next to her, holding it by her lips.

“Listen, Beej, you still have rounds to make, and people are relying on you. I’ll take care of Erin -- still a doctor, after all -- and I’ll give you a call if we need anything.”

“I don’t really--” BJ began, reluctantly standing. Erin spat the fouled water into the toilet, and Hawkeye stroked her arm.

“Please, BJ, just go get your work done. Erin and I’ll be fine. We _can_ conduct ourselves, you know.”

“I suppose. You’ll call?”

“I will. If anything goes wrong, which nothing will. Now, scram.”

“All right,” BJ backed out of the bathroom. “You sure you’re okay, Erin?”

“I’d be better if my dad wasn’t staring at me when I feel this awful. Please?”

“All right.” BJ turned and clattered down the stairs, and Hawkeye spread out beneath her, stretched and kicked the door shut with his shoe.

“Now, Erin, I’m going to run through my standard battery of questions. Have you been drinking?”

“No.”

“Eat too much, maybe?”

“Not a chance. I couldn’t eat last night, remember?”

“Anything ache unnecessarily?”

“Look, Hawkeye, I appreciate your concern,” she closed her eyes again against a fresh wave of queasiness, “but all I know is that I can barely eat anymore and I’m always fatigued. And I keep feeling this sick.”

“Have you been throwing up regularly?”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him through a fringe of abused hair. “I’m not answering that.”

“I really don’t want to think this is the case, Erin, but I think your sickness is no sickness at all.”

“I’m fine.” She gulped.

“I can see that. Since throwing up is normal -- your father informs me it wasn’t when I did it, either -- and being tired is completely natural for a girl your age. But someone I know rather well has been staying out late and coming in not only trashed but tousled. Erin, I think you might be pregnant. We’re going to have to take you in for some tests.”

“No way. And no _way_. I don’t even _kiss_ on the first date.”

“No, but kissing isn’t necessarily a requirement. You’ve had a lot of trouble in your life, and sex is a natural escape. When I was a teenager I experimented all the time. But this, see, this is different. If you’d wanted to try it, or if you’re in a steady relationship, then you should’ve come to me.”

“What for?”

“Because, my dear, as a doctor I have access to all sorts of illegal things. I could’ve gotten you proper contraceptives.”

“I don’t need them, _Doctor_ ,” she said ironically.

“No, I imagine you don’t. Not anymore. Would you let me examine you at least?”

She sat up in shock, a horrified expression plastered on her face. “No! No, absolutely no way.”

“Erin,” he warned. “I have to at least look you over.”

“You’ll tell Dad.”

“Yeah, probably I will. I’ll have to. But listen, it’s easier if you just cooperate. You get into a mess, Erin, the best way to get out is move forward. It ain’t fun, pleasant, or pretty, but the only way out is generally through. Something I learned in Korea.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Unconsciously she rubbed her shoulder.

“Your shoulder ache?”

“No. And I fail to see how you could’ve learned _anything_ in Korea. You know why I hate this whole mess about Vietnam? Because I don’t want anyone else to have to go over and play doctor to a bunch of dying soldiers.”

“I understand, believe me.”

“Eh.”

“Come on, let’s go back upstairs to your bedroom.”

“I can’t walk or I’ll throw up.”

“I’ll carry you.”

“I’ll probably still throw up.”

“I’m rather used to it, unfortunately. Seems to be a natural consequence of being a doctor: one is always getting bled on or vomited on. Or excreted on, in some way or another. Look, Erin, when I was in Korea I saw a lot of awful things I’d rather forget, and one of them sent me hurtling right over the edge. What I learned -- War Psychology 101, Professor Sidney Freedman -- was that if you don’t face something, it eats away at your back. Damn painful things just devour you that way.”

“Sure.” She closed her eyes again. “I feel awful.”

“I bet.” Hawkeye shifted, repositioning so that he could stand and carry her. As he adjusted his grip, her eyelids fluttered and her eyes rolled back. Hawkeye rolled his own eyes and got to his feet. “Well, the examination ought to go rather well, now that our pregnant teenager is unconscious.” Hawkeye transported her back upstairs, lay her gently on her bed, and began to undress her. It was about when he tugged down her pajama pants that he found the first scar; the next when he lifted her shirt over her head -- on her shoulder; the third when he removed her panties so that he could more properly examine her abdomen; the fourth when he pulled off her socks -- on the sole of one foot; and the fifth when her head lolled sideways against her pillow and he found a shallow scratch on her cheek. It didn’t take Hawkeye long to recognize the marks made by a dull-edged scalpel -- after all he’d used enough of them throughout the years, especially in Korea -- and he touched one with a finger. It bled a little -- a curved cut above her navel -- which alluded to its freshness. Hawkeye shook his head, dragged a hand through his white-streaked hair. Erin had more problems then he was prepared to discover. He did a quick, less-than-thorough examination, and re-dressed her. Then he headed downstairs to call BJ.

\---------------------------------

“Listen, BJ--”

“Let me fi--”

“BJ!! Let me _talk_ , dammit!”

“I _told_ you--”

“Shut up, BJ.”

“ _Thank_ you. Now, if you’ll kindly pay attention, our lovely teenager has worse issues than I originally thought. Well, to start off, she’s definitely pregnant, as far as I can tell. _Yes_ , I’m sure. About a month along, if I had to hazard a gue--”

“BJ-- shut up.”

“It gets _worse_ , BJ, please be qui--”

“All right!” Shouting now. “Close your goddamn mouth, BJ, so I can tell you without her hearing me. She’s been _cutting_ \-- yes, that _is_ where your scalpel went -- I can tell a scalpel cut by now, BJ. I’m a doctor. I’m a surgeon, not a soldier, damn you! Or a father. That’s _your_ job. Now let me finish.

“She’s been self-mutilating, probably for some time now, judging by the old scars and the couple new injuries. She also has a fine case of venereal disease, can’t tell which one offhand, and I think she’s been sleeping around.”

“No, I don’t know with who.”

“I didn’t ask, BJ. She was unconscious at the time.”

“Yeah, why don’t you come home.”

“I’ll call Sidney.”


	8. I Know This Much is True

Dear Peggy,

Well, I know it’s been almost a full year since I’ve last written you, and things have been quite interesting. Erin has been quite busy giving me even more gray hair than usual, and Hawkeye is his normal insufferable self.

That means I love him, though. Anyhow, since I don’t write to you to let you know about our sex life, I’ll continue with Erin. Last fall she got herself pregnant, then attacked herself with a coat hanger and induced an abortion. She was lucky, the baby aborted naturally, and she didn’t do _too_ much damage. We’re all hoping she’ll be able to have kids at some point in the future.

It turns out that instance with your boyfriend had some lasting effects. She slept around -- according to Sidney it’s all self-destructive behavior -- and hurt herself with my scalpel.

Don’t get your pantyhose knotted up, though, Peg -- it wasn’t my fault simply because I’m a doctor. Anyway. She had a miscarriage -- bled all over the rug in her bedroom (yeah, the nice cream one I had just paid for), and apparently had found herself some boyfriends of the “fathers of her classmates” persuasion. The wounds have healed from both the miscarriage and the venereal disease, and she cuts much less often now. Hawk and I keep an eye on her, since Sidney tells me it’s difficult to stop doing right off. He expects she’ll give it up soon, though, with supportive behavior and the proper counseling. She doesn’t sleep around quite as much anymore, either. There’ve been instances, which Sidney claims is natural, but now that she has a steady boyfriend she’s been less likely to jeopardize it by fucking anyone that looks her way.

You’ll be happy to know that she finally quit smoking once she got pregnant, although she has a nasty taste for gin. Can’t imagine where she got that. Her hair is growing out, and she chopped ninety percent of that awful dyed portion, so she looks much more like the beautiful daughter I remember. Sixteen was a fresh year; seventeen and eighteen have been quite turbulent.

Hawkeye takes her out drinking, even though she’s underage, and she always orders the driest martinis possible. Straight after her own father, with a lovely side influence by Hawkeye.

He, by the way, finally opened up and agreed to talk to Sidney, and since then he’s joined me working at the hospital. He seems really glad to be back in an operating room -- I think he may’ve finally put Korea behind him. Or at least closed that book once and for all.

Like all books of our lives, they always sit on the shelves of our minds, often collecting dust. The lucky times are when we can reread happy memories and keep the sad ones locked up.

Ah well. It’s been quite an interesting ride, this year. Erin seems really serious about her current boyfriend, and she still willingly sees Sidney -- which I think is really good for her. She’s taken up painting and horseback riding -- got into that when old Colonel Sherman Potter came by visiting last year -- and in just a couple months she’s going overseas to start college.

Well, Peg, I love you. It’s been a long time and I know there’s not much left for us to build on, but do write Erin at school.

Oh yeah, Hawkeye. He’s just as incorrigible as I’m sure you remember, but he’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever held in my arms. You, Peg, held that esteemed position at least until you began sleeping with whatever-his-name was. Under the bridge, though, with Korea.

Erin got arrested protesting the Vietnam war last week, but as far as rebellious behavior goes, that particular kind makes me proud. Makes me think that at least _someone_ learned something of value from the years of terror and pain in Korea.

She doesn’t want anyone else to suffer like Hawk and I did. And you did, and she did, by proxy.

I think all in all life’s been good to us so far, and I’ll write you again when we travel with Erin to Europe. You’re welcome to come, of course, but Hawkeye’ll probably drive you crazy.

Speaking of Hawkeye once again, his father -- you remember Daniel Pierce, from the reunion, right? -- died a couple months ago. Erin sang at his funeral, and I must say, it catapulted me back twenty-five years to when you were still singing in choir, incredibly, angelically beautiful, and the best soprano they had. She inherited your voice, it’s almost a shame that she’s not going to school for it. Oh, well.

Say goodbye to Mill Valley for me, babe. It’s been a long time, and I don’t think I’m ever going to be looking that way again.

Till more news breaks,  
BJ

P.S. Hawkeye just bopped me on the head and told me to tell you he says hi. He also says you should drop a line to Trapper, who, it seems, has moved to California with his own teenage daughter. Guess Evie’s in college at UCLA and he decided it would be easier to just stay and reside there. Love you, Peg.’

\-----------------------------------

“Nice letter.” Hawkeye grinned, finishing up reading over BJ’s broad shoulder.

“Do you miss Trapper, Hawk?”

“Sometimes I do. They say you never forget your first love. Carlye filled that place on the girls’ side, and Trapper on the guys’. So, yeah, I loved him and I left him in my past as best I could.”

“I love you, Hawkeye Pierce.”

“And I you, BJ Hunnicutt, husband of my heart.”

Hawkeye leaned over, obscuring the light, and claimed the lips of his long-sought and hard-won lover. BJ returned the kiss, and the night fell into shadows, and only a dusky rose glow was left.

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics used:
> 
> eve of destruction by barry mcguire  
> angel by aerosmith  
> angels by amy grant  
> code of silence by billy joel  
> invisible city by the wallflowers  
> love can do by amy grant  
> shades of grey by billy joel  
> my life by billy joel  
> spirit in the sky by norman greenbaum  
> traces of love by classics iv


End file.
